


Unchained

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 17:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: It's the reader's first night working at a brothel, but her first customer pays an unexpected price.





	Unchained

You had not been born fortunate. Truly, if one were to describe your lot, they would struggle to find a word tragic enough to do so. Before you were old enough to talk, your mother had been taken away by a winter plague and your father, who made sporadic attempts to live up to that title, could not be bothered. The most he could find in his miserly heart was to sell you to the nearest vendor for a purse of silver and a meal to see him through his abandonment of his only child.

You looked around the dark chamber, lit only by a scattering of candles and a single oil lamp. The hearth was yet to be sparked; the dame, Eda, had told you it would need to be stoked before your first visitor. Reluctant to do anything but wallow in self-pity, you merely stared at the wall and thought of all that had led you here. From the moment you had heard your mother had passed to the chink of coins as you had been sold into service several times over. You should have known it would come to this.

You traced the scar along your collar bone, exposed by the low neckline of your new garb, a thin keloid rippled the flesh. That was a mark of the first time you had tried to flee your life as little more than a slave and head hunters had found you before you could reach the next town. There were more, from head hunters and those who claimed to own you. Then there were those which you had left, in those moments when you could hardly stand to exist. Times like that very instant.

Your younger years had been simple, you had become a companion for a wealthy human child, Layni, but when you had grown old enough for labour, you had been once more exchanged. This time you worked in a forge for a dwarrow named Elwid, burning yourself on the foreign tools until you could do the most basic of metalwork. When a male apprentice had been found, you had been sold again as a field hand to an elf called Lewyn, your skin browning beneath the infallible sun and your hands callousing from the heat and sweat.

From there, you had been chosen to work as a housemaid, once more in a wealthy estate owned by the son of Men. You had lived among all races and finally returned to your native kith and kin in the Blue Mountains. It was not as you had imagined your return, all those years dreaming of breaking free of your captivity and going home to reclaim your blood right. You had been dragged here in chains, caged like a wild animal, spirited in the dark through the back door of a brothel.

“Wash yourself,” The mistress, Eda, had ordered as she tossed a rag at you and a basin of tepid water, “Scrub yourself well. When you finish, change out of those horrid clothes,” She pushed a pile of dyed fabric towards you, “Tayna will be in to show you your chamber.”

It was your early training in manners that tempted you to thank her but you caught yourself from the habit, glowering at her back as she left you. You did not move until the ashen-haired Tayna had arrived and done the work for you as you numbly let her scrub and dress you. She also painted your lips and cheeks, lined your eyes, and plaited your hair. She issued you careful instructions and friendly advice, but you did not hear her. There was nothing you could do to make it easier.

When Tayna had left you, dispirited by your lack of response, you slumped into one of the two chairs which flanked a small round table and sighed. Your heart raced and yet it felt entirely too still. If you could disconnect, block out everything around you, it would go quickly. All you had to do was lay there and pray that whoever walked through that door was not cruel. Close your eyes and count as you had when you were a child and at the mercy of the master’s strap.

A knock sounded from the other side of the door, the ominous rapping fraying all semblance of calm within you. You gulped and stood shakily, watching the door open as Eda walked in with skirts swaying and a dark, thick figure shadowed her. “Y/N,” She sang tartly, “You have a visitor.”

She crossed to you and took your hand, trying to pull you closer, leaning in to whisper sharply in your ear, “Make sure to get a tip.” She swirled around and traipsed past the stranger, a dwarf hidden in the dearth of light, before slipping through the door and shutting it with a terse clasp.

You stood silently, frozen with fear and dismay, the dwarf not so much as looking at you, his eyes searching around guiltily. His bald head was tattooed and reflected the low amber light, his grey blue eyes illuminated by the dull glow. He was thickly-muscled and tall for his kind, and he resonated a grim demeanour.

“Um,” You mumbled as you looked around, his obvious strength only stirring your fear, “I’ll…feed the fire.”

It was unlikely that he had heard you at all as he remained still and you scurried over to the hearth, stacking the logs before reaching for flint. You struck the flame on the first try and cursed your innate skill. You had hoped to delay for as long as possible and you could hear the dwarf moving behind you. You turned, standing slowly, as you watched him sit on the foot of the bed, your heart beating erratically.

The silence remained as you hesitated to move from the warmth of the building fire and you wiped your sweaty palms across your skirts. For the first time, he looked at you; taking in  your scarlet dress which dragged across the floor and the bodice which exposed more than you would have liked. You tried to urge yourself forward but you merely wavered on your feet.

“I can’t do this,” He stood just as his weight settled on the bed, “Look,” He turned on you, a sudden energy coursing through him, “I didn’t come here to…you know. I’m just…I don’t know why I came here.”

Your breath was trapped in your chest and you were sure you had made up the words in your head.

“You’re very pretty and…I didn’t want to scare you but I can see it in your eyes,” He looked down and sighed heavily, “That’s the only reaction I ever get. Fear, disgust…”

“Sir,” You ventured meekly, suddenly overcome with sympathy, “It’s not like that,” You didn’t know why you were explaining yourself, why you didn’t just let him leave, “I…I’ve never done this before either. This is my first night and you’re my first…visitor? I’m not afraid of you, I’m afraid of the nights to come.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” He brushed his rough hand over his inked forehead, “I know what I am. I’m pathetic enough to come here and think I could feel something by—you know.” He shrugged and kept his eyes down, “I’ll pay. Make sure the boss isn’t mad with you.”

“I’m not lying,” You insisted and stepped forward, trying to look into his face, “Really. I don’t really want to do all that other stuff but…we can talk, perhaps? Or you talk and I listen?”

He looked up at you, his eyes searching your expression for some joke. He chewed his lip as he considered you, pushing back his shoulders. “Really?” He asked quietly, “I’m not very good with words.”

“Neither am I,” You tilted your head, emboldened by the relief of his cowardice, “But it would save me time before another visitor shows up.”

He looked around the room again as he thought and nodded, turning back to you with a forced smile. “Should we sit?” He gestured to the chairs beside the table.

“Um, yes,” You accepted and kicked yourself into action, taking the same chair you had sat in before as he slowly lowered himself into the other, “I’m, uh, Y/N.”

“Oh, uh, Dwalin,” He offered his own introduction as if he was surprised at your interest; you were willing to do anything to prolong the inevitable, “Mahal, do I really need pay for words with a dwarrowdam? How pitiful.”

You could tell he was humiliated, that some deep insecurity had drawn him to the brothel and he had seemed honest when he claimed it to be a singular visit. You swallowed back the nerves still stewing in your stomach and forced a smile of your own. You reached out over the table slowly, carefully, and touched his arm.

“If it helps, I am usually only talked to when I have a chore to do,” You realized how lowly you sounded but you had always been rather good at it, “And look at me. Not exactly a proper dwarrowdam.”

“Is it true?” He wondered as his gaze fixed on you, “Am I your…first?”

“Yes, and I wish with all my soul you’d be my last,” You hung your head as your predicament sunk in once more, “Sorry…”

“What did you do before?” He continued as if you weren’t a whore, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Huh, aren’t I supposed to be asking you these questions?” You scoffed darkly and clasped your hands together.

“I’m boring,” He assured you abashedly, “Please, I want to know.”

“I was maid, for some time, but dwarrow servants aren’t highly prized,” You explained, “You must know that we’ve not much hope as it…”

“You did something else before that?”

“I’ve been a companion, a smith’s assistant, a field hand–”

“You’ve worked a forge?” He interjected curiously, perking up in his seat.

“For a few years,” You admitted, “Again, I was replaced.”

“Did you like it? Better than this place?” His interest concerned you as he looked intently across the table, “Or at all, really?”

“Not that it matters, but yes, I did,” You felt tears pricking in your eyes and sniffed them back, “As little as I did, it was nice.”

“Can you forge a knife?” His eyes twinkled as he lifted a thick brow.

“Uh, yeah, of course,” You stuttered, “It hardly matters now.”

“Would you work for me?” He choked out through his excitement, “I have a forge just inside town.”

“If I said yes, it wouldn’t make a difference,” You shook your head and frowned mournfully, “It’s not my choice.”

“No, but it can be,” He stood suddenly, a different dwarf than the one who had entered.

His shoulders were no longer slumped, he had determination in his posture, and a growl upon his face. He passed your chair as you stood and marched for the door as you kept on his heels, trying not to trip over your own feet. He stomped down the corridor to the front desk and you kept behind him, confused at what he intended.

“You,” He pointed to Eda who appeared insulted by the sharp gesture, “A purse of silver. She’s mine for good.”

Eda squinted between you and Dwalin as you tried to hide behind him, “Well, what tricks does this one know that she’s worth all that?”

“Purse of silver,” He repeated, each syllable enunciated for effect, “Deal?”

“She’d get more than that in a night,” Eda rolled her eyes.

“I’ll give you a full purse now and one in another month,” He countered nonchalantly, “I know you’re full of it but I’ll play your games.”

“Two weeks,” She declared.

“Three,” Dwalin punctuated the affair and Eda held out her hand.

“Three,” She smiled and he shook her hand so roughly that she winced, pulling the purse from his waist and dropping it on the counter, “You have ten minutes to clear the room,” She spoke to around Dwalin’s shoulder, “A roof is worth a lot in places like these.”

Without another word, you pushed Dwalin past the front desk, nothing left in the chamber which you would claim as your own. All you had ever owned was the locket hidden in the folds of your corset that your mother had left you on her deathbed. The gruff dwarf led you to the door, holding it for you as if you weren’t dressed as a prostitute and led you out into the night. For the first time in nearly all your life, you felt hope.

* * *

You realized as you had left the brothel and Dwalin had helped you up onto the back of a short-legged mule that he had traveled far for his failed sojourn. He forwent riding behind you and instead led the beast on foot as if afraid of touching you.

The main streets of Ered Luin, far from the backstreets where the whorehouse was hidden, were cobbled and quaint. You felt a sense of familiarity though you had not seen them since before you had developed a memory. It comforted you to know that your mother had walked these roads and that this had been her home, at least for those years after the Mountain had fallen.

Despite the wear of days of travel and the exhaustion of your stress, you took in every foot of the town and tried to hold onto it. Dwalin’s home was small but more welcoming than any you had been in since your mother had died. Dwalin tied the mule to a post and lit the lantern which hung just outside the small house, leading you up the cobbled walkway.

The thick walnut door opened to a cozy interior, one unexpected for a dwarf whom seemed so icy. A handwoven blanket was draped across the back of a single sofa and a cushioned chair stood beside the round hearth. Logs were stacked just beside the fireplace and a small table sat beside the chair, a single book upon it’s surface. A traditional dwarven rug was laid out below the furniture across the scuffed wooden floor and small kitchen stood just beyond a broad, open doorway.

“It’s not much,” He demurred as he set the lantern down and lit a candle with the flame and several others around the room, “But it will have to do for now.”

You stood in the doorway and looked around. It was more than enough, you smiled despite yourself, and snapped out of your thoughts to find your host staring at you.

“You can come in,” He lack the tone for for the welcome intended but you stepped forward and closed the door behind you, “I’ll put clean linen on the bed and you can take that. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, please,” You raised your hands pleadingly, “Please, you’ve done enough.”

“If there’s anything I’ve learned about being a host, it’s that I take the couch,” He insisted and crossed his arms, “Dis made sure of that, at least.”

“Whoever this Dis is…don’t worry about her,” You waved away his obstinate words “I can’t take your bed. The sofa is more than what I usually get.”

“Hmmp,” He grimaced at you but you could see him accept that he would make little progress with you, “Fine. You can use the blanket that’s there and I’ll get you a pillow and…” He looked around himself and turned back to you, his eyes darting up and down your figure before he colouored and tore his eyes away, “And something to wear…my clothes might be a bit big but we’ll figure out something better tomorrow.”

“Am I really going to work at your forge?” You ventured through his rambling, “What are you going to tell people when they ask about the prostitute apprentice?”

“I don’t have to tell them anything,” He grumbled, “Besides, no one needs to know what you’ve done before.”

“They might guess,” You shrugged and kicked a toe into the carpet, “You know…” You glanced around the room as it finally seeped into your mind. In only an hour, everything had changed, “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever done for someone,” He returned tritely, “Count yourself lucky…and don’t tell anyone else. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“I could have guessed,” You chuckled, an ill-used gesture, “Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone you work me till I’m numb…and I’m sure you will.”

“So long as you’re a good worker, you’ll do just fine,” He assured as he turned his attention to the hearth, crouching to place a log within, “I’ll get this fire going and then we’ll get you set up for the night. You hungry?”

“No, I’m much too tired to eat,” You replied as you scratched the nape of your neck, watching him as he built a fire, “Thank you. Truly, you cannot know how much I mean that.”

Dwalin wriggled as if shaking off your gratuity, as if unused to it, and stood from his work, brushing his hands off on his pants. Awkwardly, he bowed his head and hurried out of the room without another word and you waited patiently for him to return, hopefully with the clothes he had promised.

* * *

At first, working at the forge was exhilarating and you were ecstatic to be anywhere but a field or a brothel. Then Dwalin had carried through on his promise and was just as demanding as any boss you had ever worked for. To gauge your skill, he had you craft him a knife and upon inspection, he had you remake it, showing you how to thin the edge.

Content with your work, he invited you to observe his own work as he shaped a sword at his anvil. You could not help but admire his deft hands and the sweat of his toil as he focused on the metal. He looked almost tranquil as he folded the silver over and over and his final product showed every ounce of care he had put into it. You smiled at the blade as he held it up humbly before you, explaining the process a final time.

You were so concerned with impressing Dwalin and holding onto your position, that you paid little heed to the other dwarves at the forge. Several others worked in proximity to you and had sent curious glances your way without explanation from your mentor. It was only as Dwalin declared the day over that you noticed the other smiths.

A dark-haired dwarf neared, clapping Dwalin’s shoulder as he peeked at you from the corner of his eye, “Dwalin, I didn’t know you were to have a new apprentice.”

“Mmm, you could say I didn’t either,” Dwalin wiped the sweat from his brow, “This is Y/N and she needed a job and I needed a hand.”

“I haven’t seen her before, when did she arrive?” The dwarf looked you over with his sharp blue eyes.

“Last night. I wasn’t expecting her so soon but…it’s not so bad,” Dwalin glanced at you dully, “Y/N, this is Thorin.”

“Thorin?” You had spent your life on an unstable road but you had not failed to hear the king’s name, “Oakenshield?”

“Thorin is just fine,” Dwalin elbowed you, “A king in a smith’s apron.”

“Dwalin,” Thorin squinted at the bald-dwarf, “You are oddly poetic sometimes. It can be rather chilling.”

You thought back to the book beside the hearth which you had dared to peruse the night before after Dwalin had retired. It was a small tome of stories; tragic, comedic, romantic, suspenseful. Your host had not seemed one for reading but the pages were well worn and you could tell he did not hold onto anything he did not have a use for.

“Anyways, Dis has been on my back all week,” Thorin continued casually, “Well, her boys mostly. I keep telling them you’re busy but–”

“Another training session?” Dwalin nodded as he set his tools neatly beside his anvil, “They’re due for one, I suppose.” He eyed you as he thought; you were already getting in his way, “We should have time for that.”

“Great,” Thorin smiled and exhaled in relief, “I might get some time to myself for once. You don’t mind if I sit this one out, do you?”

“Of course not, I could handle your nephews with one hand tied,” Dwalin boasted and removed his leather apron, rolling down the sodden sleeves of his tunic, “Send ‘em over in about an hour.”

“Thanks,” Thorin gave Dwalin another pat on his back before turning away, “I owe you.”

“You say that every time, you donkey,” Dwalin grumbled after him and Thorin responded with a low chuckle, “Well,” Dwalin turned to you, gesturing you to lead the way out of the stolid forge, “We’ll just have to work around it. You’re welcome to join. Don’t know how well you hold a sword but it’s never to late to learn.”

“Maybe I’ll just watch,” You offered, fiddling with the hems of your oversized cuffs, “I’ll at least take care of dinner.”

“No, you won’t,” He gave you sidelong look, “I told you, I’m your host and–”

“You’ve done more than enough. Please, I can’t just claim your couch and offer nothing in return.”

“Hmm,” He considered as he rubbed the side of his large nose, your stubbornness wearing on him, “Fine. I’ll let you cook…I’ve a few things to get sorted before my trainees show as it is. You remember how to get back?”

“Um, yes, I think so,” You nodded as you peered down the cobbled street, “I should be alright.”

“Good,” He stopped and turned to you, “Go on ahead and I’ll be there shortly,” He was still awkward around you and his eyes rarely focused on your for more than a few seconds, “Uh, alright.”

Dwalin clapped his hands and awkwardly pivoted on his heel, walking past you down a side street as you stared after him curiously. You had seen the veneer he wore when among those who knew him; stoic, unbending, intimidating. Yet, when it was just the two of you, he let his mask falter and you could not but admire those facets he hid away in shame. You thought back to what he had said about the brothel, realizing that his intent had never been perverse. Insecurity could be oppressive and in his way, Dwalin was a slave just like you.

* * *

Dwalin returned home shortly after yourself, a parcel of brown paper under his arm as you watched him through the kitchen window. There was a small shed near the back of his yard and he slipped inside, returning with a set of wooden practice swords. When you had been a companion to Layni, she had loved to play with her older brother’s play swords. The memory sobered you as you blindly peeled potatoes, thinking of how that little girl had likely lived a full life and died years ago.

Dwalin removed his tunic, his undershirt stained with sweat, his tattooed arms brawny and covered with dwarven fur. He stretched his legs and shoulders and began to parry with the air with one of the wooden swords. His movements were disciplined and sharp; you could imagine a foe facing him and the impact of his blows. If only you were that strong.

You finished cutting up the potatoes and set off to gather water from the well you had seen on your way from the forge. You lugged the heavy bucket in through the front door, careful not to slosh water over the side as you lifted it onto the counter. The simple task of cooking was calming amongst the chaos of the last few days and let your mind float away.

Turning back to the window, two young dwarrows approached Dwalin through the open gate and japed in words you could not hear. You watched the furrow of Dwalin’s brow as the two youths visibly irritated him and he tossed each of them a wooden sword; the dark-haired one failing to catch his. You were inclined to chortle at the lack of grace but you would be no better in a similar position.

The sound of the wooden blades clashing sounded soon after as you went about your work, the kitchen growing warmer and sweat began to bead all over your body. You rolled up your sleeves as you cooked and glanced periodically through the window. You found Dwalin facing off against the duo as you plated the slabs of pork and spiced potatoes, trying to muster the courage to go out.

You pushed through the back door, pulling down your cuffs to hide the scars on your arms as you did. The melee continued but was ended swiftly by Dwalin as he batted his partners’ swords down decisively. “Right, I smell dinner,” He announced and bowed his head to you, wiping away more sweat with the back of his hand, “You, two. Practice. I can tell when you’ve been loafing around.”

“We’re not that bad,” The blond dwarrow panted, “You’re just a hard-ass.”

“Pardon?” Dwalin tilted his head wryly and the youth cowered, “Y/N,” He turned back to you, “These are Thorin’s nephews, Fili and Kili,” He gestured first to the blond and then the brunette, “I’m sure you witnessed some of their ridiculous sparring this evening.”

“Oi!” The blonde one sounded more insulted than he looked, “You’re the apprentice?” He wondered as his blue eyes rested on you, “Thorin was telling us this old ox had finally found himself a hand.”

“I am,” You admitted meekly, wondering if that was what you were.

“You two should be going home,” Dwalin deflected any further questions, “Your mother will be waiting.”

“You’re starting to sound just like her,” Kili murmured, retreating under the glare he received in return, “I mean, of course. We’ll just be on our way.”

“Yes, we will,” Fili took his brother’s sword and handed it along with his own over to Dwalin, “Can we come back next week?”

“Two days,” Dwalin ordered gruffly, “You need the practice. Now off with you before I change my mind.”

The brothers grinned at each other with amusement over Dwalin’s chagrin, issuing an intermingled farewell before escaping through the gate. You watched them go with a grin and turned back to Dwalin as he cradled the swords under one arm. “I’ve just got to put these away,” He stated stiffly, “I’ll see you inside?”

“Um, alright,” You watched him hesitate before finally turning away and you did the same, every interaction more awkward than the last.

You set the plates on the small table in the room just beside the kitchen, assuming it was meant to be a dining chamber. You sat on a chair, folding your hands before your dish as you waited patiently for Dwalin. He appeared as quickly as he promised with the brown parcel under his arm once more and stopped short before the table.

“Ah, before we eat,” He took the package out and held it towards you, “This is for you.”

“What?” You stared at the paper held closed by a single piece of twine, “Oh, please, I can’t. Not without recompense, and I haven’t anything to my name.”

“I’ll take it out of your pay,” He shrugged and dropped it in your lap, “End of the week, we’ll tally that up.”

“Pay?” You grimaced in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Apprentices don’t get much but it’ll be enough coin to warm your pocket,” He sat across from you, “Perhaps one day, you’ll work your way to your own anvil and before long, you’ll be on your own two feet.”

“My own?” You wondered, the concept foreign, “I’ve never…”

“I didn’t buy you, Y/N,” He intoned, “You don’t owe me anything. Now, open it.”

You swallowed, your mind spinning at the idea that you could one day be your own person, and you unknotted the twine carefully. The paper fell open, revealing a stack of wool and linen. Three tunics and a pair of trousers, some underclothes, stocking, pristinely packaged. Your mouth fell open as you looked up as Dwalin and all you could do was shake your head.

“You need em, lass,” The nickname sent a tingle through you; it was the first time he spoke to you as he did to others, “You can’t be looking like a tramp wearing my burlap.”

“I…” You breathed as you fought the emotion rising in your throat, “Thank you, Dwalin.”

“Not at all,” He waved away your words and took the double-tined fork from beside his plate, “This dinner,” He inhaled the scent ravenously, “Is more than enough to make us even.”

He picked his knife up and cut into the gristly meat, popping it in his mouth with a delighted moan as he focused on his plate. You wrapped the clothing back up and set the parcel below your chair, your own hunger stirring within. You ate in contented silence, your mind flurrying as you tried to rein in your thoughts. You were not free just yet.

* * *

Your work at the forge consumed most of your days and slowly you and Dwalin fell into an unspoken arrangement. You were his apprentice at the anvil and in your time off, you cooked and cleaned out of pure habit, and the silence became less tense by the day. He trained with the Durins three times a week and you enjoyed the peace of watching them. It was as close to ‘normal’ as you had ever been, even if it was rather unusual.

One night, the sky set slowly as Fili and Kili set off with a whistled farewell and laughter trailing after them. You were sitting on the single step of the back door as Dwalin watched the dwarrows leave with a glint in his eyes. He turned to you, his face sparking as if he had not known you were there. He looked to the wooden swords and back to you, his mouth slanting.

“Want to try?” He held out a hilt to you, “I’ll take it easy on you.”

“I don’t know,” You looked away evasively, “I haven’t held a sword outside the forge since I was a child.”

“Then you can only get better,” He tossed a sword at you and to your own surprise, you caught it as you stood swiftly, “Already off to a good start.”

“Sure,” You scoffed and examined the wooden blade, “Anyone can hold a sword.”

“You can’t spend all your time doing housework,” He threw the extra sword to the side, “I don’t expect you to be battle-ready, but it is good exercise.”

“And you? Hasn’t anyone told you that you can’t spend all your time with swords and axes,” You teased, your own gall shocking even you.

“I sleep,” He japed and his chuckle startled you, “Go on, raise your sword,” He got into a fighting stance, “Like so.”

You mimicked his position and your cheeks burned, embarrassment rising as you felt like an utter novice. He smiled with approval and bowed his head. “We’ll start simple. Parries.” He flicked his sword, “Just copy my motion.”

You did as he instructed, the movement coming easier than you expected and he watched as he guided you. He looked satisfied with your work and only lowered his blade to show you how to hold your shoulders. You were sweating as he announced that you would move onto blocking and you exhaled heavily, pulling your damp tunic away from your skin.

Leaning your sword against your leg, you wiped your hands on your tunic and chewed your lip. It would be much better if you removed your tunic as Dwalin did and sparred in your undershirt. The recollection, however, of the scars which lined your arms and back, discouraged you. Instead, you merely pulled at the hem anxiously and sighed.

“It’s only going to get worse,” He mused as he offered you a cup of water from the bucket he kept near, “I promise, I won’t peek. I’ve had that chance.”

Once more, his humour caught you off guard and you mulled over his words. Taking the cup, you gulped back the water and handed it back. As he turned away to take a drink for himself, you succumbed to the itchiness of the wool and peeled it over your head. You dropped it into the grass and took up your sword once more, shying away as Dwalin looked back to you.

He blanched as he did, noticing the scars at once, and while he must have noticed the scar along your collar bone when you first met, he looked appalled by them. You winced and glanced away with embarrassment, searching for the shirt you had just disposed over. Kneeling to pick it up, you set aside your sword as Dwalin appeared beside you, crouching as he touched a scar along your wrist.

“Please, I’m sorry,” He uttered softly, “I didn’t mean to gape.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” You tried to shrug him away, “I’ll put it back on.”

“Y/N,” He clasped onto the tunic, “Please, I don’t care about your scars,” He pulled it away and tossed it over his shoulder, “Look at me,” He ordered but not unkindly, “Do I look like one to judge? We all have scars. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Once a slave, always a slave,” You stood and crossed your arms, “As much I try, I’ll never be free. I’ll always be marked as what I am.”

“No dwarf is a slave,” He declared as he rose, staying close as he spoke, “Those people who did that to you, they were monsters. You don’t deserve that. You’re not something which can be owned, _you_ are a person.”

“It wasn’t just others,” You looked down at the scar he had touched, “Sometimes, we hurt ourselves in hopes that it will ease the pain others cannot see.”

“Y/N,” Dwalin neared, placing a hand on your shoulder, and one on your chin to make you look up, “You’re free. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to stay with me. You can take your money and go. Whenever you please.”

“But…” You swallowed as you searched his face; the thought of leaving seemed daunting. Never before had you wanted to stay, “I have no where to go…and I don’t want to go.”

“Then stay,” He offered quietly, “For as long as you like. But I won’t make you. Ever.”

“You don’t have to,” You touched his hand, removing it from your chin as you held it tightly in yours, admiring the tattoos across his knuckles, “I want to.”

His cheeks coloured at your words and he looked away bashfully and you admired his profile, your chest filling with unfamiliar emotion.

“Dwalin,” You breathed, “Thank you,” Your voice was strained as you held back tears, “For everything. I had nothing and you gave me all. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be–”

“No, please, you’ve done enough,” He looked back to you as his own eyes sparkled, “More than you know. That night, when you said you would listen…when you looked at me like I wasn’t some beast. That was all I ever wanted.”

“But you’re not a beast,” You insisted, squeezing his hand, “You are the kindest person I’ve ever met. If only you would let others see that, you might begin to see it yourself.”

Dwalin swallowed as the teardrops wavered in the corners of his eyes and he searched you for some sign of dishonesty. Your eyes blurred and you sniffed back your emotion, taking Dwalin’s other hand in yours.

“I see it, every time I look at you,” You smiled as you looked up at him affectionately, “I always have.” You stood on your toes, releasing his hand to touch his cheek, running your fingers across his rough skin, “I always will.”

Dwalin’s eyes widened as you pressed your lips to his unthinkingly and you closed your eyes as you felt him soften against you. His hand gripped yours and he shakily cradled your chin with his other, returning your kiss as his shock seeped away. He pulled his lips from yours, gazing down at you with wonder, his mouth slowly curving with pure joy.

He let go of you, only to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close, your head against his chest as you listened to the beating of his heart. You hugged him back, nestling into his warmth as you felt his chin graze the top of your head. You closed your eyes, lingering in the peace you had sought for so long. Free, at last.


End file.
